It was Dean's job to protect Sammy. It always had been, and it always would be.

Only Sammy wasn't a kid anymore, and he hated being called Sammy these days, even by Dean. Sam had been an adult for a full year now. It had also been nearly a year since Dean had heard anything about Sam's attempts to get into college, which was a bigger relief than Dean would ever know how to express. If Sam tried to run off to college, Dean wouldn't be able to protect him from any of the threats hunters usually faced. Hell, if he ever announced he was going off to college, Dean wouldn't be able to protect him from Dad.

Dean knew Sam had sent off at least one college application, but only because he'd more or less forced the information out of Sam. Dean assumed he'd either let the dream go, or he'd been rejected.

Dean was with Sam when the acceptance letter came.

He'd never know how Sam managed to get the letter to actually come to him, considering the sheer amount of time they spent moving around. If they had any mail, it usually went to Bobby, and their dad would pick it up when he swung by. Dad was out, of course, and Sam went out for a milk run and came back with an envelope. Dean thought about playing keep away to see what it was, but he decided twenty-three was a little old for that.

Sam plunked down on the couch, opened the envelope, and gasped aloud.

Dean looked up from the old manuscript Dad had told him to read over for research on a case. "What's up?"

"I . . . I got in."

Dean's heart sank into his stomach. He knew immediately what Sam meant. "Where?"

"Stanford."

Dean whistled. He might not have known much about the whole academic world, but he knew that was impressive. He also knew how expensive college could be. "Too bad we're dirt poor."

"They're offering me a full ride."

Dean stood up from the table. "Wait. You're not thinking of going?"

The look Sam gave him made Dean realize exactly how stupid that comment must have sounded. Dean had no idea how many hours Sam must have poured into compiling transcripts, studying for SATs, writing entrance essays, sending applications. Of course he was thinking of going.

But it was still his job to protect Sammy. So he asked, "What are you gonna tell Dad?"

"The truth, I guess."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. It was only May. The school year started in September, or maybe August at the soonest. That bought him a little time.

"It's a summer acceptance," Sam said. "I'd start in a couple of weeks."

Dean made it over to the couch in two strides and snatched the paper from Sam's hand. "Sammy, you can't—"

"It's Sam." He snatched back the paper.

Dean put his hands up. "Sam. Let's just . . . calm down for a minute, think about this rationally, don't make any rash decisions."

"I've been working on this for years, Dean. I didn't make this decision today."

Years. Dean had somehow been in denial all this time. A year ago, Sam had been mailing off applications; two years ago, he'd taken an SAT and convinced Dad he'd snuck out to go to a party. Four years ago, Dean had swung him by the Kent farm for help with looking over brochures and getting recommendation letters. Sure, Sam had pipe dreams to get himself through the day—Dean had pipe dreams, too, about settling down with a hot chick. That didn't mean he was ever going to do it. But then, Dean hadn't been working toward his dreams, either.

All this time, Dean had sheltered Sam from his father's wrath, helped him make sure Dad never found out. Now it was all backfiring. "Sammy . . . you can't . . ."

Sam set his jaw. "I'm going. No matter what Dad has to say about it."

And Dean had nothing more to say. He couldn't control his little brother. Sam was nineteen.

Dean went into the bathroom in their little motel room and closed the door behind himself, because Dad would be home any minute, and he didn't want to see this go down. But he only stayed for a minute, because no matter how unpleasant this was going to be, he didn't want Sam to be alone.

Dad came in a few minutes later. He went straight for the duffel bag. "Get packed, boys. We're headed to—" His voice cut off as he looked up at Sam, who was staring intently at him. "What's the matter?"

"Dad, I have something to tell you," Sam said. "But I think you should sit down."

His stance became even more rigid. "What's going on, son?"

Sam took a deep breath. "So, I've been thinking about this for a long time. I want to go to college."

Dad scoffed. "College. How's that gonna help find the thing that killed Mom?"

"Dad . . . I don't even remember Mom."

Dean watched his dad stiffen, and he readied himself to step in. It was one of those moments where it was all too obvious to Dean that Sam was the favorite. If Dean had ever said anything like that, his father would have struck him, no question.

"Look, I'm not saying what we do isn't important, but it's time for me to go out on my own, you know? I'm nineteen years old."

"Your transcripts are scattered in pieces across twenty different school districts. You're not gonna be able to apply."

"Actually . . ." Sam held out the acceptance letter. "I got in. Full ride to Stanford."

Dean expected that maybe, even just for a split second, his father might be a little impressed. There was no hint of that at all. "So that's it, then? You gonna choose college over your own family?"

"I—I don't want to choose, Dad."

"Well that's what you're doing!"

Even Dean was startled by the outburst. "Dad," Dean said.

If Sam was surprised, though, he didn't show it. He didn't shrink back; he took a step closer, raising his voice to match Dad's. "You're gonna make me choose?"

"You have an obligation to this family—"

"I'm nineteen, did you really think I was going to keep hunting forever?"

"I don't care how old you are, you're my son!"

"Kids move out, Dad, it's normal!"

"And applying for college behind my back? That's normal?"

"No! It's not normal for me to feel like I have to!"

"You never once talked to me about this."

"I knew you'd react like this!"

"Sam!" Dean interjected, but again, he was ignored.

"You're going to reply to Stanford and let them know you can't make it."

"No, I'm not. And you know what?" Sam went over to the corner of the room and picked up his suitcase. "I don't have to take this." He stormed toward the door.

"You walk out that door, you don't come back."

The challenge hung in the air. Dean's breath caught in his throat—he'd never felt so useless and powerless.

"Make your choice now, Sam. You walk out that door? You don't come back."

Sam only hesitated for a second before he left. Dean almost ran after him, but then Dad would have run after Dean, and things would have only gotten uglier.

It was Dean's job to protect Sammy.

His dad turned on him as soon as Sam was gone. "Did you know about this?"

Dean knew better than to lie. "Yes, sir."

"And why didn't you tell me?"

"I only found out about Stanford a few minutes before you came home. And I knew he was going to apply, but I didn't think he'd do it."

"You don't decide what I need to know, Dean. You know that."

Dean forced himself to stand up straight, not to cringe. His father had no compassion for cowardice.

"I'm gonna go for a run," he said. "I'll be back soon."

That meant he needed time to work out Dean's punishment, and Dean should expect it when he got back. He was pretty sure he'd outgrown his father's belt, but that didn't mean there weren't all sorts of other options his father could choose from. All he said was, "Yes, sir."

As soon as his father was gone, Dean tried frantically to reach Sam. Sam, of course, wasn't picking up the phone.

Well, if Dean couldn't reach Sam, he could try for the next best thing. Dean almost called Bobby, but he couldn't be completely certain that Bobby wouldn't tell Dad. So his next call was to Martha Kent. She picked up after two rings. "Hello?"

His throat choked up. Something about the gentleness of her voice hit him hard today. "Hi, Aunt Martha. It's me, Dean."

"Oh, Dean! It's so lovely to hear from you! How are you doing? How's Sam?"

"Ah, not so good." Dean cleared his throat, rubbing his eye. "Hey, listen, I need a favor."

"How can I help?"

"Sam's headed to college. He got a full ride to Stanford."

"Oh! That's wonderful!"

"Yeah." Dean's voice broke. "Uh, listen, could you give him a call? Invite him to drop by the farm on the way out to California?"

"Why don't you both come by? Aren't you helping him move in?"

"Sam . . . didn't leave on the best of terms with me and my dad. He's not answering my calls. But I thought, if you called him . . ."

"I—I don't know if I should get in the middle of his, Dean."

"Please. You don't have to tell him it was me. Actually, it's better if you don't. It's just . . . could you tell him you're proud of him?"

"Of course. I am proud of him. Stanford! I always knew he was smart, but—wow! Good for him."

"Good." Dean swallowed against the tightness of his throat. "Thanks, Aunt Martha."

" . . . Dean, I know it's not my place, but . . . I've seen you and your brother interact before, and I think if there's any way you can make amends—"

"There's nothing I can do."

She was quiet for a moment. "Well, alright. Call me if you ever need to talk."

"I will," Dean lied. "Take care."

"You too, Dean."

After hanging up, Dean immediately dialed Lex's number. Lex's secretary picked up, and she put Dean on hold for a minute, but then she transferred him to Lex. "Hey, Dean, this really isn't a great time—"

"Sam just ran away. He's headed to college."

Silence for a moment. "I see."

"Yeah." Dean shifted his weight. He was breathing in to ask for a favor, but Lex spoke first:

"Good for him."

Dean's jaw clenched. Lex had never really understood the Winchester's family dynamic, but Dean didn't blame him for that anymore. "Yeah, listen, he didn't take any weapons with him. If he stops by Smallville, could you give him some things to defend himself in his dorm?"

Lex sighed. "Yeah, I think I can put something together."

"Wouldn't ask if it weren't important."

"I know."

Dean let his breath out. "Thanks, Luthor."

"Any time."

Dean hung up. Just because Sam wasn't here anymore, just because Dean might never see his brother again, that didn't mean he could give up on him and leave his future to chance.

Because it was his job to protect Sammy.

And damn if he wasn't going to do it.